


Leavin' (you) was never an option

by winterscaptsam



Category: Marvel
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Brokeback Mountain AU, Brokeback Mountain References, I watched Brokeback again and couldn’t get sambucky out of my head so here we are, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 06:27:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20304949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterscaptsam/pseuds/winterscaptsam
Summary: But its not his fault that maybe he found more comfort in Sam’s touch than anything before. That the tightness of his muscles around him was the safest thing up in Brokeback, that the smell of wet leaves and smoked breathes felt sweet when it came off of Sam.OrSam Wilson and Bucky Barnes fall in love up the hills of Brokeback Mountain during the 60s





	Leavin' (you) was never an option

**Author's Note:**

> A Brokeback Mountain AU, if you haven't seen the movie I suggest you do before you start reading (spoilers but not much) I did decide on going for an alternate ending to which the movie had because...no way was I gonna give Sam and Bucky an ending like that.

It’s the early summer of 1963 in Wyoming, America. When the leaves are as green as the grass and the breeze of air is gentle against the skin but no matter how lucious the weather is the economy not so far down Brokebacks Ranch isn’t as sweet. The increase on workers getting sacked day after day, and it wasn’t all bright for those who didn’t get sacked either as their wage massively dropped as the sales did. 

Which brings us to, James Buchanan Barnes, a retail worker who had spent his first few weeks of summer searching for work until he landed a job on the ranch, paid to herd the sheep during day and keep the coyotes away which isn’t too hard when you’ve got a horse and twenty bullet pistol. 

The Brokeback Mountain ranch is in need of two workers, Bucky Barnes and a man who he still has yet to meet. Leaning against the back of his tractor as he props his brown boots with one too many holes poked inside it up on the wheel. Cowboy hat sat low on his brown head of hair, shielding his face from the sun as a lit cigarette was placed loosely between his lips. 

Hickman, the ranch owner stepped outside of his office which was basically just a caravan in the middle of the desert, he had sharp green eyes and a full white beard to match his hair and a shirt too tight to fit his overweight stature. 

“You, Barnes?” Hickman asks, staring right at Bucky as he places both his hands at the waistband of his belt, Bucky nods as a reply back, blowing a puff of smoke he’d been holding on. 

The older man sighs, looks out for another tractor that could’ve possibly made its way in that small amount of time only for a dusted red tractor to pull up right behind Bucky, engines roaring and smoke blaring out as a man Bucky’s height walks out, a black cowboy hat covering his hair, clear brown skin with a growing stubble and alluring brown eyes that shone with the sun, looked only two years younger than Bucky at most, kicking the side of the car with a puff as its broken door wouldn’t close,

“Bullshit of a fuckin’ car,” the man grunts out, and his voice is low and powerful from the five words he spoke. 

“Both of ya,” Hickman snaps his fingers at the man and Bucky, “get your scrawny asses in here,” 

The man walks away from his car and just as he’s about to pull a cigarette from the packet in his pockets he can hear his car door creek open again, this time letting out his loudest sigh and rolling back his eyes, he spots Bucky at the corner of his gaze. Just straight up staring in his direction, small smirk on the corner of his lips at the whole ordeal. 

Walking up the caravan steps as both men walk into Hickman’s office, he’s sat behind a desk, chewing at the ends of a hay straw. He looks up at Bucky assessing him and then at the man whose knelt on the opposite side of the caravan walls, gritting his teeth and taking off his cowboy hat to reveal the small black stiff curls as his hair. 

Hickman lets out a sigh, lays his back on his seat as he props both his feet up on the table. “Right, now I want you,” he points at Bucky who straightens his position and clutches his hat to his chest, “you’re gonna stay in the main camp with forest service, pitch up your tent right there.”

Bucky swallows back a small gulp, _ shouldn’t be too hard, _“Yes, sir.”

“And you,” Hickman continues, looking straight at Sam who doesn’t straighten his position like Bucky but instead stays kneeling his shoulders against the wall, staring straight back at Hickman, “you’re gonna hitch up your tent with the sheep. Eat your supper and breakfast at camp but back down with the sheep to sleep by them.”

“Got it,” the man shrugs his shoulders as if it's the easier job he’d been told to do. 

Hickman nods back, pinches the hay straw out of his mouth and reaches for a cigarette as he looks up at both men who just stand there as if waiting for instruction.

“The hell y’all doing here, get your asses outta my office and off to work!” 

And that's when the man decides to straighten his posture, puts his hat back on as he heads for the door as Bucky follows from behind, he watches as the man straightens his hat out, places it just above his eyes to cover him from eye contact, Bucky can understand that feeling all too well.

“You got a name?” The man asks, levelling his head up to face Bucky, lighting up a cigarette between his fingers. 

“Bucky,”

“You just stop at Bucky or what?” and his brown eyes are staring right into Bucky’s blue.

“Barnes. Bucky Barnes,” he says while swallowing back a gulp and squinting his eyes from the sun that was flashing right into eyes, which on the contrary his best friend Steve always told him his eyes looked majestic in the sunlight. 

“Well, Bucky Barnes. The names’ Sam, Sam Wilson,” the man, _ Sam _, says back to him, holding out his hand to shake. He shakes back in a second, and Sam’s hands feel soft against his, not like the roughness he was so used to feeling. 

“You ever been up on Brokeback?” Sam asks, letting his eyes gaze at Bucky as if assessing him.

“No,” he shakes his head and before he gets the opportunity to ask if Sam had been here before he’s already up and leaving, heading towards his rusted car. 

Waving Bucky a small nod before he disappears into the seat of his tractor, engines on the ready as Bucky just stands there, watching as Sam drives off. Considering this was the man he was about to spend his summer with, he didn’t seem all that bad. 

He was straight forward, at least it seemed like it and he walked around the mudded sand roads as if he owns the place, maybe like he had been here before. Also, granted that he didn’t bat an eyelash at Bucky’s amputee of an arm. It was already hard enough convincing Hickman to allow him to work at the ranch (gives reason to why he gave the harder job to Sam) so, it was bonus points that his now co-worker for the rest of the summer didn’t seem to care for his absence of an arm. 

Basically, what Bucky is trying to make sense of is that, with this stranger he’d just met who goes by the name of Sam, summer doesn’t seem like it’ll be all too bad. 

____________________

Loosening the rope on his horse, Bucky can see Sam riding back a few meters from down south, finally making it back for supper which ultimately was beans and whiskey. Not that they were complaining though.

It’s been a week so far, become a routine as it should be. Bucky’d look after the herd and campsite, shoot down some meat if they were lucky enough, which in his defense is pretty hard considering the whole one arm thing but not that it ever stopped him. Bucky, was the best sniper in his town two arms or not and no one would ever challenge him against that. 

“What we got on the market today, Barnes?” Sam’s voice called out as he jumped off of his horse, hands already reaching for his packet of cigarettes.

Bucky shrugged a little, tutted his teeth as even the name of what they had made him nauseous, “beans, whiskey and even more beans,” he muttered back. 

“Don’t look so sour about it or it’ll rub off on me,” Sam nudges an eyebrow up, playfulness in his tone.

That’s also something Bucky noticed about Sam, he’s as positive as a chirping bird. Even when it was the dead of night with the coldest winter breeze he’d have a smile on his face as if it were a summer day in California. 

Bucky learned to appreciate that about Sam, the positivity radiates off of his body as much as his sweat did. 

Both men leaned their backs up on a log, Sam placing his rusted off cowboy hat up on his knee as he tossed his foot with the fire wood, 

“You’ll burn yourself if ya carry on like that,” Bucky muttered, eyes peering on the toe area of his shoes that was so close to the fire, it’s material glaring into the light, white soul of a shoe and the orange, red like fire light indulging itself around it.

That’s another thing Bucky noticed about Sam, no matter what he was doing Bucky always managed to capture the small details in his movements, almost as if he was mesmerising- _ no, he’s just good at noticing things. _

“What you doin’ up here in Brokeback, anyway?” Sam asked, hay straw in between his lips and now his attention wavered from the roaring fire to the softness of his lips, pink, plumped and stretched out into a smile.

“Like everyone else,” Bucky shrugged, looking for an answer that wasn’t the truth. 

“Everyone else, huh?” Sam looked over his shoulders, peering around the empty forests, “whose everyone else?” and this time he’s holding up an eyebrow, probably expecting the truth this time. 

Not that Bucky gives it to him, “Money. Just like everyone else,” he gives off a small nod. And here’s the thing, as well as being a great sniper Bucky was also a great liar, the best in the family and then town. 

So, it comes to a bit of a shock when Sam calls him out on it, nods and a humming in his throat as he lets out a playful smirk, tossed his hay straw away and looks Bucky dead in the eyes, even if the moon wasn’t exactly visible from where they were sitting, Sam could swear he saw the moon in the blue iris of Bucky’s eyes, “it’s cause of the arm, ain’t it?” 

Not the lost arm, not the broken arm, not the disabled or the handicapped and certainly not a cripple. Sam just refers to it as “an arm,” which in Bucky’s case was a lost liberty that people loved taking advantage of- apart from Sam that is. 

And no matter how at ease Sam’s words made him feel, that doesn’t account from the fact that it’s a hazardous memory Bucky doesn’t want to go back too. 

Here’s the thing, as good as Bucky is at noticing the small details, Sam is a great reader, the smallest gimmick or gesture and Sam could accurately place the emotion behind it. 

“It’s alright, no need to press on the subject,” he mutters to Bucky, reassuring tone in his voice and kindest smile on his lips.

And before he could reply, Sam’s already up and dusting the dirty residue off of his trousers, placing the hat back on his head and nodding Bucky a goodbye, “best get back to the sheep,”

“_ Sleep with the sheep, wake up to the sheep, nothin’ more and nothing less,” _ Bucky spoke up, his best attempt at a Southern accent, mimicking Hickman’s voice from before, also being his best and only attempt at humour, which in his best friend Steve’s words, ‘wasn’t his best suit,’ either way, Sam gives off a small chuckle, which in all honesty was a laugh at Bucky’s horrible attempt at a Southern accent and not on his not so much of a joke, joke. 

“G’night, Bucky.” Sam mutters back and before he knows it he’s on his horse and out of sight.

_ Bucky, _the sound of his name rolled off of Sam’s lips so effortlessly, so sweet and his heart twitches a bit, almost wanting to hear his name in Sam’s breath of air once more. 

____________________

“Reckon we could ride one of em’ like a horse?” Bucky asks, sitting flat on the grass as he watches Sam herd the sheep. 

“Ha,” Sam gives of a sarcastic laugh, “I dare ya! you’ll break a leg trying,”

“You dare me, Wilson?” And Bucky is lifting himself up from the ground, adjusting his cowboy hat and Sam is staring at him, mouth open in slight shock and Bucky just knows he’s thinking: _ are you fucking serious? _

“Yeehaw! Giddy up, giddy up!” Bucky is shouting in pure excitement as he starts chasing after one of the sheep, chooses the biggest one of the bunch and expects it to obey in silence.

“C’mon, horsey,” Bucky’s whispering as he’s close enough to pat it like a dog,

Sam is shaking his head, smile creeping up on his face, “we ain’t callin’ it horsey,”

“Sheepie?” Bucky asks, still patting its fluffed white skin, creeping his leg over it, gently and slowly,

“For the love of sheep, we ain’t callin’ it Sheepie either,”

“How ‘bout…” Bucky’s legs are now over the unnamed sheep, and ever so hesitantly he puts his weight onto it, sitting down softly as he readies himself to ride the sheep, “...Buttercup-_ wait, ARGH!” _

And before he knows it the Buttercup is squealing loud and shaking side to side to let go of the weight on her body and Bucky falls flat right onto a load of...sheep shit. 

Sam is practically pissing himself in laughter as Bucky’s face is smudged brown in manure, flies already sticking themselves to his dung filled scent as Buttercup just turns herself around to stare at Bucky. And if sheep could speak, Bucky knows her facial reaction would translate to, ‘_ damn right, you deserved that.’ _

“Fuckin’ buttercup alright,” Sam is laughing uncontrollably but offers a hand up to help Bucky, 

“I fuckin’ smell of shit,” Bucky grunts out as he takes Sam hands, lifting himself up from the load on the grass. 

“Yeah, more than you usually do,” and there’s a playful smirk on his lips, 

“Oh!” He lets out overdramatically, “oh, really?” 

“Yeah, fuckin’ really- Jesus, no!” Bucky is smearing all the manure on him and throwing it onto Sam, sliding his slimy hands all over Sam’s face and shirt, “Fuck, fuck, I’m sorry, erghhhh” 

“Best be fuckin’ sorry,” Bucky states, unable to hide his smirk at both their literal shit looking state. 

When they make it back to camp, Bucky is the first to strip out of all his clothes, stands by the river lakes and splashes water all over his soaped down bare body, shivering from the cold but keeps scrubbing as the dirt flows away with the water. Pats himself dry and shakes his hair free from the droplets, slides into his baggy trousers and buttons himself tight in a shirt and drapes the towel around his neck. Tightening the belt on his waistline as he walks up back to the tent,

“All yours, Wilson” he says as his eyes are met by the sweet mahagony of Sam’s iris, tightens his lips together, fixes his body to stand up straight, there was something that fluttered his heart at the look of Sam’s eyes. Almost as if he could see the heavens inside them, a heaven he wanted to be apart of. 

Sam nods, walks right past Bucky as if he hadn’t just frozen by the sweet simplicity of his look, makes his way down to the lake beds, completely strips out of his clothes and splashes the cold hitting water against his body. And God dammit, Bucky can’t help but stare a little. 

Sits by the logs, his hands slightly becoming warm by hovering over the fire, what he was supposed to be doing was warming the now cold beans, getting ready for supper and then on look out for forest services. What he was actually doing there wasn’t an excuse for, he swallowed back a gulp, tucked a wet strand of hair behind his ears and slightly moved his gaze to the side. 

His eyes lingering at the state of Sam’s silhouette, how his muscles tighten when he scrubs down the side of his back, how the water drops off his body as if he was made for the oceans, how pure and beautiful he looked. Can’t help but stare, can’t help but want to touch him, _ feel him. _

But he wasn’t allowed to look at him in that way, or any way. 

____________________

“Fuckin piece of shit coyotes,” and from there its only blood rushing down Sam’s cut on his forhead, broken branched leaves and twigs stuck in between the straws of his hat and sticking on his shirt and in between his belt. This time, he isn’t rushing down from south of the mountains on his horse but _ fucking running for dear life. _

And its when Bucky is too busy complaining about beans for supper the hundredth time before he notices the ungodly gash on Sam’s head, stain on his clothes and irritated expression on his face. 

“The fuck happen to you?” Bucky asks, already edging up closer to Sam, sense of duty and care hitting close to the heart. 

“The fuckin’ coyotes happened. Horse ran off with all the supplies and- _ oww! Fuck man!” _

“Relax, its for the cut,” Bucky muttered back, careful to answer back softly to Sam’s annoyance, placing a damp wet cloth to the bloody gash on his head, pressing tightly against the cut.

“Do it myself,” Sam grabs the cloth off of Bucky, only making Bucky slightly shift in movement away from him and maybe it's because Sam feels a tad guilty for the grit in his tone or because he notices the closed off position Bucky puts himself in, either one it is Sam plays his voice to a soft and thankful one, almost whispering, “thanks,”

Bucky nods in reply, ‘_ you’re welcome,’ _ at the tip of his tongue which he only replies with the passing of his opened tin of beans he has yet to touch, offering the last can to Sam. 

“You got some whiskey instead?”

Again, Bucky nods a reply, turning himself around digging into the bag behind him and pulling out an old flask filled up to the rim, old and battered but its silver shine still visible, their fingers brushing on each others touch as Sam wrapped his hands around the flask, chugging the remains as if the sweet, vicious thickness were healing the cut on its own. 

“Fuckkk,” he lets out all in one sigh, laying his head back, forgetting all the worries of the hours that passed him,

“We could kill a sheep,” Bucky offers, realizing they only have that one tin of beans to last them the next five days. 

Sam only turns his head slightly to face him, raising both his eyebrows with that _ are you fucking serious, _look on his face. 

“I’m a damn good sniper,” Bucky shrugs because yes, he is one hell of a sniper.

“Yeah, sure” Sam hums, not like he doesn’t believe him but just in a way that tells him _ no, were not killing no sheep, you kill a sheep and Hickman’s got my neck on a rope. _But it's not like Sam needs to tell him that, Bucky shifts his focus to the rising moon and lighting fire. 

The rest of the night is silent, Sam finds himself dozing off at the sound of his own breathing, promises himself he’ll wake early at dawn to check up on the sheep but for now..._sleep next to the warmth of the fire sounds so goddamn good. _Bucky offers him a space in the tent next to him, which he politely denied by not replying at all and curling himself in a ball. 

By midnight, the rain is hitting heavy against the tent and if Bucky is shivering with the warmth of his blankets he can’t imagine the coldness Sam is feeling but he sure can hear it, the clattering of teeth and heavy breathing all too loud and for a moment that's all Bucky can hear over the rain. He zips down his tent, peering his head through to see Sam’s body a quivering mess; the coldness of air and rain clearly visible on him. 

“Jesus Christ, Wilson. Get in here, would ya?”

And this time no objections, Sam picks himself up and runs over to the inside of Bucky’s tent, surfacing himself below the blankets and its not Bucky means to feel him it's just an accidental course of touch when his fingers intertwine in between Sam’s and he flinches away from the extreme coldness, numbness in his fingers. 

“Fuck, you’re cold,” Bucky mutters, pulling Sam closer to him by the hip and he can feel the tenseness off of Sam as he does so, excpet Sam is way too cold to reply with a snarky comment or deny his too handsy amount of touch and plus, the warmth of Bucky’s chest against his back is already warming him up. 

It's not their fault if Sam wakes up three hours too late in an arm tangling mess of warmth next to Bucky, the morning sunlight hitting the soul of Bucky’s cheek, eyelashes soft and delicate as his breathing, the softness of his lips perfectly parted as light breathes escape him- _ not that Sam takes notice to all of that, of course. _

“Rise and shine,” Bucky mutters as his eyes are closed but he can feel Sam’s brown eyes staring at him. 

“Not fuckin’ really, I’m hours late on the sheep,” Sam grits his teeth at the thought of Hickman realizing he hadn’t slept with the sheeps for that one night. 

“Get somethin’ in you and then go check up on them,” Bucky yawns through his words. 

“Yeah, well. If you weren’t too busy lookin’ all pretty and trapping me in your hug I woulda checked on them already,” and honestly, Sam has a point, a really good point but Bucky’s hug was more of an ideal choice then checking up on fucking sheep. 

Bucky’s lips form a smile, blue eyes blinking open as he brushes his hair behind his ear, “you think I’m pretty?”

“_Pretty fucking annoying,” _Sam corrects him, getting up and making his way out the tent. 

Bucky nods, smiling and quite pleased with himself, “you think I’m pretty.” but the second he gets himself off of the curled mess of blankets and he’s peering out of the tent, Sam is already out of sight. 

And it’s not Bucky’s fault if he counts the hours until Sam comes back. His mother always taught him to be patient, that if you’re going to be anything in this world, you should be patient but for an odd reason, Bucky knows all too well he finds himself unable to hold onto that patience when Sam isn't by his side, trying to grasp it with his fingers ever so tightly but loses it within the second of his presence being gone. 

____________________

“Hey, Sam…” Bucky’s voice breathed out at the dead of night, a clear space in between their bodies while they grabbed onto the blankets instead of each other for warmth. In all reality, Sam should be sleeping with the sheep, just like Hickman had told him too on the first day but the blankets and the tents were so fucking warm to leave behind and Bucky- _ no, it was nothing to do with Bucky being there. _

“What, Barnes?” Sam mutters while he placed his back to face Bucky, closing his eyes at a failed attempt to get sleep. 

“You asleep?”

“Does it fucking sound like it?” 

“No, but-” and Bucky cuts his own voice off as Sam is now turning his body around fully, head turning and facing him, brown eyes staring right into his blues and now their bodies are so close they’re sharing the same air of breathes. Although, Bucky was frozen to the point of numb he swears he could feel the soft gooey feeling in his heart when Sam wraps his arms around him. All mushed up and flattering in his chest, it's not weird, it shouldn’t be weird. 

Least that’s what Bucky keeps telling himself, sleeping next to Sam, close enough to feel his heartbeat, bodies tight and practically spooning. Its to keep themselves warm and that’s that. But its not his fault that maybe he found more comfort in Sam’s touch than anything before. That the tightness of his muscles around him was the safest thing up in Brokeback, that the smell of wet leaves and smoked breathes felt sweet when it came off of Sam.

_ Its just to keep us warm, _Bucky tells himself repeatedly over and over again as he scoots up a little closer to Sam. Not wanting to feel any distance between them, maybe that’s why he swears that when Sam’s grip around him loosens- he felt colder.

That the low temperature of coldness outside the thin tent walls had nothing on the coldness Bucky felt when Sam’s arms weren’t around him any longer. 

But that coldness is quickly replaced by the heat of Sam’s mouth against his, quick and breathy before he could’ve noticed a thing and Sam is leaning into him. Lips in a tangled mess as Bucky’s senses react quickly, pulling Sam closer by the nape of his neck, the rush of want-_ no, need _crashing into his system. 

And _ fuck, _a kiss has never felt so good before. In a second, Sam’s hands are rubbing through his hair all messy and tight, forcefully pushing his tongue through as if he owns the place and god knows Bucky wants Sam to touch him like he owns him.

Bucky lets his hands travel down underneath the blankets, gripping tight on Sam’s ass, pulling him closer by the clutch of it and Sam takes that as a hint, let’s his tongue travel wonders at the inside of Bucky’s mouth as their breathes attach onto each other.

“Tell me what you want,” Sam breathes out as he lets his lips travel down to Bucky’s neck.

A moan escapes him, the soft tenderness of his lips so good against Bucky’s skin but _ fuck he wanted more than this. _“Y-you,” Bucky manages to breath out from the pleasure of moans. 

Sam smirks, the sound of Bucky’s moans pleasing to his ear as he sits on top of him, kissing a spot on his neck, the dominance in him wanting to leave a mark so Bucky could remember the masterpiece of their bodies colliding. 

He sucks sweet and delicate as his fingers travel down to shirt, unbuttoning slowly until he sees the annoyance in Bucky’s face, he wants it as bad as he does. Rips Bucky’s shirt off of him, pulls his over his head and tosses it to the side.

No time for softness, their sexual chemistry practically written in the heat of the air. 

Sam travels a row of soft kisses from Bucky’s nipples and down to his v-line, uses his hand to rub his cock through the rough material and feels his dick already half hard and Sam hasn’t even started yet. 

“Just fucking touch me,” Bucky begs and he’s not even embarrassed at how much he wants Sam inside of him, feels his errection go bigger by the soft kisses Sam places on his abs. 

Feels a rush of relief as Sam guides his fingers to unzip his trousers, “fuck,” he whispers as he sees Bucky’s dick jerk up from hardness, unbuckles his belt and pulls off his trousers and boxers all in one go, takes a moment to just marvel at Bucky’s naked body, how the sweat shined off of his abs, lining down to his v like, “beautiful,” Sam whispers.

And at this, Bucky pulls Sam up to him and kisses him long and hard as he feels Sam’s own erection on top of him. _ God, you taste so fucking good, _Bucky’s words stuck at the top of his tongue but decides on letting Sam show him how good he is instead of telling him.

Sam slides out of his trousers, leaving them both naked and bare to each other’s eyes and if Bucky wasn’t so fucking needy he’d take a moment to just look at how beautiful Sam is, skin a glowing brown, eyes glowing on their own, six pack perfectly lining down to form his secure v-line and right below that, his hard dick begging for touch, _ for Bucky. _

So, he does. Bucky grabs a firm hand on Sam’s ass and flips him over, hand tender on his body as he traces kisses down from his lips and down to his neck. Sucks a hickey on his collar, leaves soft kisses as he travels his lips down to Sam’s nipples and _ fucking hell, his lips are feel like the sweetness of his words. _Sends a rush down the arch of Sam’s back as Bucky kisses soft but passionate, then goes down to his cock and licks around the tip of his dick before swallowing whole causing Sam to grab on for dear life and bundle his fingers through Bucky’s hair as he sucks and swirls his fingers around him. 

Just the feel of Sam grabbing onto Bucky’s hair forcefully was filling his own dick with pre-cum before letting his tongue explore of the shaft and balls of Sam’s dick and then guiding his way back to the tip, sucking on it’s sweet spot, going in and then out with his mouth. 

“_I’m gonna- Bucky!” _Sam’s voice screeches higher as Bucky just keeps on sucking. 

“_Fuck!” _He screams and a load of cum is rushing out of him, expects Bucky to move his mouth but he doesn’t, just lets Sam cum into his mouth and swallows it whole, licks his lips before going in to kiss Sam’s. 

Sam holds onto the kiss a little longer, before tracing his lips down to Bucky’s cock only for Bucky to shake his head, “no,” he whispers and turns himself around, “want you,” he lies himself flat on his stomach, puts his hand behind his back and turns his head to face Sam’s just slightly.

That’s when Sam realises it, that’s he’s asking, practically begging for Sam to be inside of him, eyelashes batting gently up at him, speaking the words Bucky couldn’t get out of his mouth. So, Sam obliges, spits in his hand to use for lube as he rubs himself up and down before sticking a finger inside of Bucky, thrusting in and out, slowly but then faster as his moans got louder, one finger turns to two before he decides on it.

“Sure about this?” Sam’s voice soft and reassuring, sees Bucky clenching his teeth and eyes shut before he sticks his dick inside of him, thrusting in and then out, slow in motion and the feel of Bucky’s ass wraps tightly around him. 

“H-harder, _ faster”_

Sam obediently obliges, sticks himself long and hard inside of Bucky, keeps himself from coming then and there, a moan escapes his lips as he rides inside of Bucky continuously,

“Sam-_ Sammy,_ I’m gonna-“ before Bucky could finish his words he finds himself coming below him, long and wet just splashing out as Sam does so right after, a load coming inside of Bucky. 

Exhausted, they lay on their backs, panting as they stare up at the tent walls, if Bucky stared long enough maybe he’d be able to see the starry skies, not that it mattered because he swore he could see the universe in Sam’s eyes. 

Wiping Bucky and then himself with a cloth he throws to the side, Sam wonders about a goodnight kiss but decides against. It was a quick fuck at Brokeback, there was no commitment or sweetness for a kiss goodnight. 

But there was, the sweetness that came from Bucky’s lips as he begged for more, the sweetness of his soft breathes as he called him Sammy, the sweetness found delicately in his eyes. A type of sweetness that was too hard to forget. 

____________________

The paths muddy and the road back to the sheep on early mornings became harder to remember, ever since the night Bucky and Sam shared together. 

It was an unspoken agreement that Sam would spend his nights sleeping by Bucky’s side instead of going up to the sheep, some nights ending with soft kisses, others ending with their bodies making love but this particular night had a warmth to it, the softness of their hands colliding as soft as their hearts in that moment. 

“What’d you got waiting for you back home?” Bucky asks, voice whispering as if scared to speak any louder. 

“What?” Sam turns his head to face Bucky’s, brown eyes peering in confusion. 

“Like family, friends and all’a that,” 

Sam turns his face away, peers up at the tent ceiling instead maybe if his eyes focused long enough he’d get pulled into the night sky, he lets out a small sigh, “nah, ain’t got nothin’ waiting for me,” 

“No kin or wife I don’t know about?” Bucky tries a soft joke, maybe it wasn’t the right time but he realizes how uncomfortable the question made Sam look. 

“No,” Sam shakes his head a little, “My ma died a coupl’a years ago,” he takes a breath in, closes his eyes as if to shut away the memory, “ain’t got nothing for me back home,” he opens his eyes once more, a hint of coldness found in them, “not anymore.” 

And Bucky knows the feeling of being alone all too well. No amount of kind words will soften the pain, the loneliness that engraves itself in you, that has swallowed your heart whole. It’s an empty void and it can only be filled with the pain you’re too numb to receive anymore. 

Which is why he doesn’t say anything, which is why he doesn’t offer any comforting words that will only disappear into the air once their spoken. Instead he pulls Sam in closer to his chest until his breath is trapped by the nape of his neck. 

_ You have me, _Bucky wants to say. Decides not to, that’s commitment too much. Maybe he’ll wait until he can say the words next time. 

_______________________

As daylight hangs south of the river, Sam is leaned up against a tree, cigarette hung loosely between his lips, watching as Bucky throws rock into the streams ahead. It was the soft tender moments like this that had kept Bucky awake during nights, staring at the stars wondrously as Sam would sleep next to his side, soft breathes that would soon sound him to sleep. 

Bucky turns his head to face Sam, eyes catching as Sam’s two fingers delicately remove the cigarette from his mouth, a blow of smoke escaping his lips as he looks ahead to the river banks, sun creating golden specks in his eyes as his brown skin glowed, Bucky couldn't help but stare in enchantment. 

Smile forms across the pink of his lips before he turns himself back to face the blue innocence of the river, dark shadows covering its top, “hey Sam,” 

“Hm?” he hears the hum of Sam’s back reply in a matter of seconds, like he’s always there, he’ll never have to wait for him. 

“You ever think about,” Bucky throws another rock into the river, watches as it skips tides, “how small we are, compared to what's up there,” he looks up as his eyes set on the orange skies surfacing above them. 

Sam throws his cigarette to the ground as he squashes it with the sole of his feet into the floor soil, “I guess,” he shrugs, “but I bet there’s somethin’ out there; big enough to make the stars feel small, planets even”

“Doesn’t that make you feel less?” Bucky asks, wariness in his voice,

“How’d you mean?” and Sam’s looking straight at him, brown eyes staring into the blueness of his own.

Bucky breathes out a little, looks back to the rivers ahead and bites on the bottom of his lips, “that if there’s somethin’ bigger than the stars...only proves how unimportant we are y’know? Compared to the universe and all’a that,”

There’s a small silence for a moment, Sam walks up from behind him, “only means we’re supposed to matter to the things around us, the things we can see,” he wraps his arms around Bucky’s waist, “touch,” he whispers, the smell of nicotine that could only ever smell sweet off of him coming closer by the second, a soothing calmness that sends a rush down the spine of Bucky’s back, “love,” places a soft kiss at where the skin of tissue stops by his shoulder. 

___________________

It feels like a day that never should’ve come and to a certain extent it is. The summer is over yet the sun is still shining and the leaves are still blowing ever so delicately, a naive part of Bucky hopes there’s some pathetic fallacy in that. 

“You comin’ up here next summer?” Bucky asks, loading up his tractor with the tent and equipment Hickman told them to sort out themselves. 

Sam shrugs a little, squints his eyes at the sun hitting his iris and lights a cigarette, “I dunno’ don’t think Brokeback is the place for me,” 

“So, where you thinking of heading off to?” And maybe Bucky sounds too intrigued by his next words but it doesn’t matter because he wants, he needs to know where Sam’s going next. 

“Find me some work down south of here, maybe” 

“This is down south,” Bucky corrects him and in all honesty the correction is only his way of hinting he wants Sam to stay next summer. 

Sam only rolls his eyes, gives a playful punch to his arm and asks Bucky the same, “how ‘bout you? You gon’ come back to Brokeback anytime soon?”

Bucky takes a second, needs to carefully plan out his answer. If he says he’s coming back for next summer then maybe Sam will too, it’s best he says he’ll be back- “no, I ain’t coming back” well, there goes careful planning. 

Sam smiles, the same cheeky smile he often gave after a snarky comment, tipped his hat off in a goodbye and nods a little, “see you around, Barnes,” he says.

“Not if I see you first,” Bucky smiles a little and he means it, hopes he means it anyway. 

And before he knows it Sam is getting in his tractor, slamming the broken door shut and driving away. He promises himself that won’t be the last time, tells himself it won’t. 

That next summer, Bucky finds himself back to Brokeback, looking for work, mostly for Sam. Tries to shuffle his disappointment when he doesn’t see Sam’s look of annoyance as he closes his rocked up car door, when he doesn’t feel the presence of another body next to his, he sucked it all up as he walks into Hickman’s caravan alone. 

“Barnes. Lookin’ for work I presume?” Hickman starts off, skipping all formalities. 

“Yes, sir” Bucky nods and takes off his cowboy hat, the same one he wore when he first met Sam. Maybe it’s familiar feeling of Brokeback air will drive Sam back to him. 

“I ain’t got nothin’ for you, Barnes” he replies, dialing a number on his phone and avoiding all eye contact with Bucky. 

“Hick- Sir, I’m sorry. It’s just- I couldn’t help but notice your flyers around town,” 

Hickman lets out a sigh, steadies his rising temper before he repeats his words again, “Got no work for you,”

Bucky just nods, unable to shuffle his disappointment and puts his hat back on, making his way to leave the tractor and just as his hand touches his handle, he asks one more question, “any chance Sam Wilson came around here?” 

Hickman stares right into Bucky’s eyes, studies his expression and stance for a fault, for a slip up. He doesn’t, Bucky stands tall and firm waiting for his answer. 

“You boys sure found a way to make up for time, didn’t you?” 

Bucky can feel his heart drop to pieces, there was no possible way that Hickman knew. _ How could he? He can’t of seen them but yet he did. _

“What?” Bucky manages out, blue eyes almost turning watery from the thought.

“If you wanna do what's best for you, you won’t come ‘round here again, kid.”

And with that comment, Bucky walks out the truck, runs through the dusty roads, he feels sick in his gut, stomach and heart. _ Shit, shit, shit, how the fuck? _He loses control of himself, hands tight on his kneecaps as he crouches down by an empty street corner and vomited out everything in his system. 

Wipes around his mouth with the ruffled up sleeve, lets himself fall back at an alleyway wall, crouches his legs up to his chest as sighs out a deep breath,

“FUCK! Fuck, fuck fuck!” and he’s kicking away the nothingness of dust at the floor, heart aching with pain and the only thing that could hold it all together was gone. He feels the sting of water on his cheeks- _ Sam, _ he can’t hold it in anymore- _ Sam, _he places a hand over his mouth in an attempt to stop his choked sobs from getting louder. 

All he can think of- _ Sam. _

______________________

In all honesty, summer after summer Bucky goes up to Brokeback. Never close enough for Hickman to spot him but near enough to see if the same familiar figure was there, if the sounds of the kicking of a tractor door would be visible to his ears again, if maybe his heart begged long enough his blue eyes would meet the brown of Sam’s iris. 

Until one day, decides to stop searching, to stop looking. Occupies himself with jobs wherever he could find during the day, swallows himself in drinks and meaningless hookups. But even when someone else's skin was caving themselves into his, when his fingers were digging into the soul of their backs, begging for more, even when his lips got tangled into the liquor tasting breath of another mouth, all he could think was, Sam. 

How easy it was to love him, to fall at ease with the softness of his touch, how his smile sent wonders to his chest and how the warmth of his body made his heart race tracks but stop in awe at the same time. 

How easy it was to fall in love with Sam Wilson that summer. 

And that’s why he finds himself at the edge of Hickman’s tractor, smoking the last puffs of his cigarette before dropping it to the floor and compressing it to the ground with his feet, pressing down hard onto the soul of the ground. Because if there’s one thing you do for love, is you fight for it. 

Swallows up all the power he has inside of him, heart beating against his chest as he opens the door wide, expecting to see Hickman in the same position as two years ago, relaxed back in his chair as he smokes a cigar. Except he doesn’t, his eyes are met by a much younger man, tall and skinny to the bone, dark brown hair covering his eyes as it was long enough to fall over as a fringe, a newly lit cigarette placed in between his lips,

“You lookin’ for work?” the man speaks up, doesn’t bother telling Bucky to close the door or introduce himself, just gets straight to the point. 

Bucky shakes his head, a lump in his throat as he comes to reality of what he’s about to do. 

“Then what you here for?” the man asks, clear annoyance in his voice.

“Hickman?” Bucky asks, his voice clearing up.

“Fuck no, that bugger left a while back,” the man shakes his head in a small laugh, “I’m Mickey, Mickey Denvors,” he smiles, offering his hand to shake Buckys’

“Bucky Barnes, I worked here back in 63,”

“So, if you’re not lookin’ for work, what you here for?” And Mickey sits back in his chair, takes a puff of his cigar before placing it on the ashtray. 

“You still keep records of your workers?”

Mickey nods slightly, his eyes peering up in slight interest. 

“I’m lookin’ for an old friend of mine, he worked with the sheep while I stayed up at the main lands,”

“What was his name?”

“Sam,” and Bucky feels a rush go through him as the word comes out of his lips, he hadn’t said his name in so long, “Sam Wilson,”

Mickey shakes his head, “no one by that names come along down these ends, sorry bud.”

“No, I know-” maybe Bucky’s voice turns a little desperate but he doesn’t care, “I was just- don’t you got his last address or some number up in your records?” 

Mickey shrugs slightly, “can’t give no private information off like that,”

“Please, I-” _ need this, _he wants to say, “it's important,” he says instead. 

Mickey takes a moment, threads his fingers through his load of hair before sighing and rolling his eyes back, “fuckin’ hell,” he breathes out but gets out of his chair and goes to the metal cabnites behind him, opens it up and starts looking through folders, “what year you say it was?” 

“1963,” Bucky says hurriedly, bites down on his lips to stop himself from smiling at how close and how real it is that he might finally get a whereabouts on the man he can’t seem to forget about. 

“Sam, Sam...Wilson! Got it,” Mickey turns in a swift motion, places the folder onto the desk and Bucky has to restrain himself from grabbing the papers right then and there. “Right, there ain’t no number but here’s an address,”

Bucky swallows back a gulp, reading the address of the papers as just reading the words almost made him feel Sam’s presence, almost as if he could feel Sam whispering into his ear, ‘come find me,’ and so he does. 

Copies down the address in a heartbeat and makes plans of motions on how he’d finally be able to get in contact with Sam after all these years. 

____________________

It takes three days before Bucky gets his courage written down onto a postcard. As if just writing the words down will bring Sam back to him, what if he’s already forgotten him? What if the name Bucky is a foreign language Sam has yet to learn? 

It doesn’t matter, he won’t know until he tries. Gets a grip on his pen and starts writing the only words he can manage to let Sam know, 

_ Sam Wilson, _

_ Your old pal from the Brokeback days, let’s catch up sometime? _

_ Bucky Barnes. _

Sweet and simple, sends it off and waits a week. Doesn’t get a reply until two and the few words Sam writes is enough to make his heart stop,

_ Bucky Barnes, _

_ You know the address, come by. _

_ Sam Wilson. _

____________________

That next Sunday morning, Bucky is up three hours early, his heart spilling all over inside of him, panics just by the thought of seeing the man he committed to his memory after lost years. 

Swallows up his fear, wears the same cowboy hat from all those years ago and rides off to the address, rides to see Sam. 

Sam only lives a couple miles off of Brokeback, by a house that stood high from its steel stairs, Bucky takes a moment, heart tightening as Sam was so close to him all along. 

This whole time, he was right there. He just had to look hard enough. 

Bucky swallows back his fear, leans backwards on his tractor as he presses the button to honk his car loud enough for Sam to hear from inside his house. 

And there he is, same grinning smile and peering eyes with the stars behind them. Sam opens up a window from the side of his house, pokes his head through as he rests his arms on the ledge, shakes his head, gives out a soft laugh,

“Bucky fuckin’ Barnes,” 

It feels like the whole world drops at Bucky’s feet, Sam is out of sight and within seconds he’s running down the steel stairs and towards Bucky, arms wide open as he pulls him in for a hug. 

“How you been, man? It’s been quite a minute since I last saw ya,” Sam’s voice soft as his words are soft to Bucky, just like he remembers them.

Bucky’s words at stuck in his throat, the love from all those years ago pouring out his eyes in the shape of tears, 

“I- I’m doin’ alright, fuckin’ hell didn’t think I’d see you again,” he admits because it’s true and he wants, sort of needs to Sam to know. 

“Well, here we are” 

They just stand there, foolishly smiling at each other before lunging into the others arms, forgetting the world behind them as they connect their lips after years of heartache. Sam pushes him back against the tractor, his lips finding a way on Bucky.

Every detail and memory of Brokeback pouring out of Bucky’s lips as he kisses him back as passionately, as if it will bring back the Brokeback days.

“Sshhh,” Sam murmured against his lips, disconnects and takes a step back, “not here,”

Bucky nods in understanding, just lets out a breath as he smiles back at Sam, takes a second to admire Sam’s look, how beautiful and golden he looks under the sun. But then the admiration turns to pain. 

Sam’s hands are plastered by his waist as they hang just above his belt, gold band shimmering in the light of his ring finger. 

Tries to keep the fading smile on his face, _ of course Sam is married. _Nods as he looks at the ring and back up at Sam whose eyes are a bright shade of guilt, not that Bucky noticed the guilt that runs through Sams veins. 

“Married?” Bucky asks, in a way that maybe kept the hope in his voice as much as they showed in the blue of his eyes.

“Yeah, two years.”

_ Two years I spent looking for you, two years you spent loving another. _“Good for you,” 

Sam’s smile shakes a little, looks at the dusted sand grounds before looking back up at Bucky, “should come up and meet her,”

Bucky only nods, shoved his hand in his pocket and walks behind Sam as they walk up towards his home. Wonders how it would feel to share a home with him, how the warmth of his aura would outweigh the cramped heat. 

“Liza!” Sam calls out into the house, takes a step to the side of the door to let Bucky in. And the warm comforting feeling of a home hits Bucky like a wave. 

“Liza, he’s here” Sam shouts out again and that’s when she walks out of the kitchen. 

White teeth showing off through her smile, bright brown eyes and hair pulled back In a ponytail, her brown skin clear and glowing under the rooms light. 

“B-Bucky Barnes?” She says, her voice simple and sweet but a shakiness unable to miss clear in her words,

“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky replies, hides the pain behind his smile as he offers her a hand to shake. 

“Sam’s told me a lot about you,” and her brown eyes turn watery at the words that come out her lips, almost as if she wants to swallow them all back up. 

“Good things I hope,” Bucky offers a smile, sees the pain in her eyes. 

“Right- uh, we’re gonna go out for some fishing. Don’t wait up,” 

Sam leads Bucky out, closes the door behind him in a rush as they walk back down to his tractor, Bucky takes a second to look back. His eyes glance at the now closed window, Liza is staring out at them, the water in her eyes sliding off of her cheeks.

_ She saw, _Bucky thinks. Decides not to say anything, not like it would change where the night was going. 

____________________

“Booked it for us, coupl’a days ago,” Bucky says, smile plastered on his face, not moving since he first saw Sam again. Unlocks the motel room door, takes Sam by his hand as they fall onto the bed. 

“Missed you,” Sam breathes out, smiling as he straddles himself on top of Bucky, hands on Bucky’s cheek as he pushes himself into him. Lips aching for the same warm presence, can’t help but smile amidst the connection of their lips. 

Within hours, the midnight moon is visible through the windows, Sam sits up straight, back against the beds backboard as he let his hands softly tangle themselves in Bucky’s hair. 

Both shirtless, the covers draped up to their waists as Bucky lay his head on Sam’s chest, heartbeat pounding to his ears, _ every heartbeat I take for you, _he remembers the words that sounded so sweet and soothing to his ears. 

“What if we just ran away? Packed our bags and left,” Bucky says, eyes up on the ceiling already imagining a future where they do. 

“And do what?” Sam questions, lets his fingers thread through Bucky’s hair and onto his back, traces circles as he admires every bit of skin he gets to touch. 

“Buy us a farm, in some remote area outta here. Just said ‘fuck it’ to everything holding us back,” and Bucky’s smiling, closing his eyes as if he could picture it right then and there. 

“How’d we make money?” Sam plays into the imagination, if it makes a smile on appear on Bucky then hell, he’d say anything Bucky wanted to hear, give up everything and all Bucky had to do was ask.

“Make milk off the cows, cheese off the goats and sell it for some absurd price that’d keep us stable for awhile,” 

“Could buy Brokeback off’a Hickman,” Sam smiles, winks down at Bucky playfully.

“Some guy named Mickey owns it now, Hickman left a while ago,” 

“You went back there?” Sam looks down at him, eyebrows raised. 

_ Went looking for you, _“nah,” he says instead but is shielding his smile as he buries his head into the pillow.

“What?” Sam asks, searching for Bucky’s eyes. 

“Nothin’ just happy you’re here,” 

“Mhm,” Sam replies, placing a soft peck on Bucky’s lips, “me too, baby” he says once more before pulling up the covers over them, pulling Bucky’s bare body closer to his own. 

They lay there, let the hours pass because nothing else mattered in the world as long as they were in the comfort of each other’s arms. Because no fucked up law or whispers around town would stop how Bucky’s heart yearns for Sam and no passing of years could stop that.

Standing up straight by firewood, sleep coursing through his veins as he tries to keep his stance straight, head falling low as a soft yawn escapes his lips, Bucky feels the strong grip of an arm wrapping behind him, the softness of Sam’s chin lightly being placed on the left of his shoulder, 

“Don’t go sleepin’ on your toes like a horse,” Sam says, breathes soft and warm against Bucky’s cheeks. 

“Hmm,” Bucky just about manages out, begging his eyes not to fall asleep on him, rests his head on top of Sam, looks for the comfort in Sam’s touch he knows will forever be there.

“Hey,” Sam whispers, takes Bucky by the arm and guides his sleep filled body back to his tractor, “stay awake for me, let's get you back home, yeah?” 

Bucky doesn’t remember much of that night, only the security his heart felt as Sam drove him back to their motel room, how he stripped him off his clothes and wrapped him tightly in the blankets. How he made sure Bucky’s shivering stopped before he warmed himself up, how he placed soft kisses onto Bucky’s cheek, whispering him sweetness to sleep. 

One of the weekends they decide on changing up their spot, from mountains that looked too much like Brokeback or isolated motels at the edge of roads, they decided on setting up camp on a beach near the coast. 

The cool breeze of August wind brushing their skin gently as Sam sat up by firewood, hands deep in the sand as Bucky lay his head on his lap, looking from the silver-blue sky then back to sweet mahogany of Sam’s eyes, notices how Sam is looking straight ahead at the still ocean. 

“What’s on your mind?” Bucky asks, searching for a clue in the expression Sam gives off.

“Why don’t we go take a dip?” a playful smirk plasters on Sam’s lips as he looks down at a confused Bucky, eyebrows furrowed up.

“What?”

“Water looks cool tonight,” Sam raises an eyebrow, almost daring.

Bucky gives off a scoff, laughs a little and sits straight up, cracks into an open smile before fiddling with the buttons on his shirt, stripping it off as he turns his head to look at Sam sidesway, “nothin’ between us and the waters,” he says as he pulls off his jeans and boxers in one go. 

Sam doesn’t say anything, permanent smile on his lips as he strips completely off his own clothes. Both of them jumping up, moonlight hitting their bare skin, naked bodies just feet away from the ocean. 

They turn their heads to face one another, blue and brown mixing once more as they run into the ocean, feet first as they jumped into the water, coldness hitting the heat of their skin as the transparent wetness splashed around them. 

“Coldcoldcold,” Bucky mutters, teeth shattering as Sam swims closer to him, splashing mounts of water onto his face, he only splashes back. 

The ocean's surface mirroring their reflection, twilight moon draws itself to their bodies and just as if the water was pulling them closer both instinctively place their palms against the others cheek, the waters resting just above their shoulders, swaying side to side as the moonlight shined upon their skin.

In an instant, their lips moved together, tangled in the cold mess of water it felt warm against the others mouth, deepening the kiss, not rough, not quite passionate but in a way which declared love, their bodies still as soft clouds above them disappeared and their lips connected once more after a catch of breath, soft and moist, trickling water that dripped from their skin and back into the ocean, salty ocean water lingered on his lips long after Sam had disconnected. 

A love so pure, undying that he felt could never leave his side. Which is why Bucky can barely contain his heart from breaking into the smallest of pieces when they make their way back home, packing up the unused fishing nets and resting themselves against Sam’s tractor. 

Bucky notices his silence, how the sun hits Sam in all the right places, brown eyes glowing with the golden specks shining out. 

“I, uh- I won’t be able to do this for a while,” Sam says, hangs his head down, letting his eyes focus on how his feet kicks the sand around him.

“How long’s a while?” Bucky asks, tries to hide the disappointment in his eyes which only travels down to his voice. 

“September,” he shrugs, wipes his hand through his face, does anything to avoid eye contact with Bucky, “November, maybe”

A breath escapes Bucky, his eyes squinting down as he stares straight at Sam, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as the pain quinces in his heart. “What in the hell happened to October?”

“I got to work, Buck. I have a living to take care of,”

“Quit!” Bucky suggests, his voice in a begging tone, “come work with me by lakeside, we could find ourselves a real nice house,”

Sam sighs almost as if to disregard Bucky’s suggestion, shakes his head and takes off his hat, his voice low and whispery, almost like he doesn’t want to break the truth to Bucky, “you know that ain’t gonna work, I got a wife, a job,” 

“What, so you’re gonna fuck off for three months and come back to fuck me on the fourth before you’re off to that wife of yours by the fifth. That’s how it's gonna work for you?” A dry laugh is all Bucky can manage before he’s walking away from Sam, heavy sighs escaping his lips as he looks up at the sky, searching for a future that seems impossible now, 

“That ain’t fair and you know it,” Sam says, finally looking up from the ground and right into the blue of Bucky’s eyes. 

“The fuck it ain’t fair. All we have now is brokeback mountain!” His throat dry as he shouts into the air, his arms thrown up as he gestures to the mountains ahead of him. “We could have a real good life, a fuckin’ real life,”

“And do what? Sneak around the blocks, go state to state tryna not get caught? What happens when we do? And just know that we will, we’ll get our asses beaten until one of us is graspin’ for air. Is that what you call a real good life?” 

The words sink down his throat, knows that the only life possible between them is one not worth living. But God knows, he’ll have any life if that means he can share it with Sam. 

_ How exhausting it must be to tire yourself with the world's opinion, _wishes his hands were big enough to hold all of Sam’s worries in them, that every breath he spoke would be a promise.

“You think I don’t know that?” Bucky’s words come out sharp, daggers aiming at every last hope, “I can’t get off on a coupla’ fucks every now and then, can’t go about my day without you stuck in my head. Tell me this doesn’t make you feel good?” he walks himself straight up to Sam, eyes levelling as he stares into the brown of his iris, “look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t want me,” 

And there’s a pain all to visible, golden specks turn to teary eyes, “and what if I do?” there’s a slight pause in Sam’s words, “will you leave me?”

He could never, the world can break his lungs and the only word he’d try to breath out was Sam. The desperation all to visible in Bucky’s eyes, wants to snatch his heart out and give it to him, knows that it will beat for him like it's never beaten before. 

“My love,” Sam says, a shake in his voice, “just isn’t worth fighting for,” 

And how could he say that? Because Bucky would rip his skin apart just so Sam wouldn’t bleed alone, steal the stars and place it to his presence, he didn’t even have to ask. 

That’s the moment he realizes he’s in love with Sam Wilson, with the sun in his eyes and he’s willingly asking to get burnt. 

So, when Sam tells Bucky that he can’t love him all Bucky can think is, _ you could break my heart to pieces and I’d still trust you to stitch it back up. _

Because there is this chaos in his chest, a whirlwind that just keeps tugging on every last smoke inhaled breath, the type of love that stays. And he hopes Sam will too. 

_____________________

Autumn and winter pass by before they see eachother again, Bucky goes back to the only place he knows will accept him, Brokeback. 

The place that felt like home, that felt like Sam. 

“You lookin’ for work?” an eldery looking man asks, opening the door to his tractor. 

Bucky nods, “yes sir,”

“Alright, ‘nother fellow should be round here in a bit,”

The sun hits his eyes, as if forcing him to go back to his first day on Brokeback, remembers the heavy engines as a red tractor pulled by, a man that glowed in the sun- Sam, pushing his car shut in annoyance, how the annoyance turned to a smile as he greeted himself to Bucky. How the coldness of Brokeback had nothing on the warmth Sam kept, how the sun fell as soon as Bucky’s heart did, swore he could see the universe in his eyes. 

Hears the heavy engines of a tractor pulling up behind him, takes his off that was shielding him from the sun, blinks a couple times, clearing his sight.   
  


Sam, stood next to the same tractor he pulled up by in the first day, leaning against its back, smirk tugging on his lips as he looks ahead at Bucky. He’s back and the familiar smell of nicotine and Brokeback air is surrounding him once again. 

“You got a name?” Sam shouts out to him, playing back to the first day they met.   
  


Bucky only shakes his head in a hint of laughter, “Bucky,” he replies 

“You just stop at Bucky or what?” 

And thats all it took, to fall back in the same patterns as all those summers ago. The love following them, by Brokeback or otherwise.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a whirlwind to write so hope you enjoyed reading, I definitely enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> Feedback appreciated, tell me what you loved or hated about it! I appreciate it all, thanks for getting up to this point ;) x


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